


If Earth Were Heaven

by crossroadsqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassin Castiel, Assassins & Hitmen, Chases, Criminal Castiel, Gun Violence, M/M, Murder, On the Run
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadsqueen/pseuds/crossroadsqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a war veteran whose PTSD chased his wife and son out of the house and drove away most of his friends. He's settled into a relatively quiet, normal life when his father shows up at his door with ten million dollars in a duffel bag. With that, Dean is launched into a game of cat and mouse with Castiel, an enigmatic assassin with an agenda of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

__  
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,  
And measles were nice and a lie wasn't a lie,  
Life would be delight ---  
But things couldn't do right  
For in such a sad plight  
I wouldn't be I. 

_If earth was heaven and now was hence,_  
And past was present, and false was true,  
There might be some sense  
But I'd be in suspense  
For on such a pretense  
You wouldn't be you. 

_If fear was plucky, and globes were square,_  
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee,  
Things would seem fair ---  
Yet they'd all despair,  
For if here was there,  
We wouldn't be we.  
  
\- "If" by E.E. Cummings  


* * *

  
Ruby gets home at 11:30. She leaves the keys in her car, engine running, and sprints to the door of her house. She spares a look over her shoulder as she unlocks the door before she slams it behind her and takes the stairs two at a time to her bedroom. She spends three minutes total in the room and emerges with a suitcase stuffed to the brim, zipper straining with the weight of its contents. She stops briefly in her home office to open a few drawers and pull a few documents out, including her passport, birth certificate and social security card. The last thing she stops for is her cell phone charger before she exits the house.

She tosses her suitcase into the trunk of her car and slips into the driver's seat, only to scream when she sees a man sitting in the passenger seat with a gun in his lap. She cannot see what kind it is -- only the silencer fastened on to the end of it.

"Fuck."

"Close the door."

"I know why you're here."

"Do you."

"I don't have it."

He only looks at her.

"I know who took it, though."

"So do I."

"Shit." She closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest. Her shoulders slump. "I can get it back."

The man picks up the gun with his right hand and traces the barrel with his left index finger. As he does so, he raises an eyebrow at Ruby, at her general state of distress, at the door of her house which still hangs open, at the suitcase thrown haphazardly into the trunk. He says nothing.

"You have no reason to hurt me. I have zero information on anything that can affect you, I'm not a liability, I'm not dangerous. If you get out of the car --" She takes a breath, swallows hard, and continues. "If you get out of the car and let me go --"

He's already shaking his head.

"No, listen. Please. If you let me go I'll completely disappear. I'll throw out my phone, burn my papers, and I'll be gone from your life. No one will ever know."

"That's not what's going to happen."

"Listen. Just listen to me. I have money in an offshore account. Two million dollars. I swear to God. It's all yours if you let me go. I promise."

"You can't offer me anything I want."

"Christ, Castiel. Just wait a minute."

"Is there anything you want to say?"

"No, wait. Jesus, just wait. It doesn't have to be like this."

"Is there anything you want to say?"

"Your brother isn't God. You don't have to do everything he says. You have a choice here, all right? You can let me go. No one will ever find out. Please, Castiel."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no wait. Please. Just -- God, I'm out of things to say. Just please let me live."

Castiel shoots her between the eyes. Her head cracks against the window, smearing blood and brain matter. Both of her eyes are still intact and wide open. He watches the life drain out of her. When it is gone, he presses two fingers to her eyelids and closes them. Her body is still warm.

He exits the car and crosses the street to a small green Toyota Corolla parked on the other side. He pauses at the door. The night is alive and he is surrounded with movement and sounds in a way that is unsettling. There is a certain restless quality in the air, in the lights shining on the far side of the street, the lonesome barking of dogs, the faraway roar of cars from the distant highway. Wild cats roam the street. Raccoons pick through trash cans. Above him, power lines buzz with electricity.

Castiel tucks the gun into his waistcoat. It takes him less than a minute to pick the lock and hot wire the car. He glances over at Ruby's car. The headlights are still on, engine still running.

He pulls away in the stolen vehicle, leaving her behind.  


* * *

  
Dean Winchester is woken by a pounding on the door.

He already has the Colt in his hand before he is fully awake. He creeps over to the window to peek out.

"Dad?"

He pulls the door open and looks over the grizzled man standing in the doorway. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Where's Lisa?"

"Uh, we -- things didn't work out. We separated, a few years back."

"Oh." John fidgets with a duffel bag in his hand. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, it's -- thanks. What are you doing here?"

"It'll take a bit to explain. Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Come on in." Dean moves out of the way and John takes a seat at the kitchen table, dropping the duffel bag to the floor between him and Dean. Dean leans against the kitchen counter and watches him. John sinks into the chair as if he's been walking for days. There are bags under his eyes and the skin on his face looks loose and colorless. He rests his head on a hand for a second, breathing.

"You okay, Dad?"

"I've been having a rough time."

"Business?"

"Yes."

Dean glances at the duffel bag. "You planning on staying here for awhile?"

"That's not clothes in there."

"What is it?"

"Ten million dollars."

"Yeah, that'd be the day."

John only looks at him.

"Wait. Are you serious?"

"As cancer." John unzips the bag and piles of hundreds of dollars slip out like water overflowing from a cup.

Dean laughs. It comes out like a bark. "Shit. How much did you say?"

"I'd estimate ten million. Haven't had a chance to count."

"Shit."

"You said that."

"What did you do?"

"I killed someone."

"Not exactly what I want to hear."

"I get that."

"And there are people coming after this money?"

"Yes."

"What kind? How many?"

"That's my business."

"Only you showed up at my door and you're sitting in my kitchen with it. So now you've made it my business, too."

"It won't be your business for long."

"Fuck, Dad."

"I need three days," says John, enunciating slowly. "You hold this for me for three days and I'll come back and you'll never have to worry again."

"You can't ask that of me. Not now, after all these years."

"Ten million dollars. Dean. Think. This is my entire life and yours and Sam's and your children's and grandchildren's. This is Sam's student loans and a new house and Ben's entire college education. All I'm asking for is three days."

"You think you can take care of whoever's after you in that time?"

"I have a plan. And I won't tell it to you, so don't ask. The less you know the better. All you have to do is take the money. I'll give you a burner cell phone and you can use some of the cash to hole up in a motel room. I'll call you when I need to."

"Fuck you, Dad. I told you I wanted out of this. Now you show up with a bag of money telling me you killed someone at three in the morning and now I have to take it and run. What am I supposed to tell Sam? What about Lisa and Ben?"

"I don't have time for this." John pulls a flip phone from his pocket and slaps it on the table. "If you don't want to use any of that money, fine. But you still have an obligation to the family that raised you and fed you and clothed you until you decided you didn't need them anymore."

"Fuck you."

"Suck it up. All I'm asking for is three days to change your life forever." John goes to the door. "Don't drive the Impala. Too noticeable. Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It's good to see you again."

"Yeah. You too, Dad."  


* * *

  
As soon as Dean's packed, he calls Sam. It goes to voicemail, but he calls back a few minutes later.

"Sorry, I was talking to someone. What's up?"

"Hey, I'm gonna be out of touch for a few days."

"What's going on?"

"Dad showed up."

"You serious? How was he?"

"He looked okay. He needed some help with business."

"And you said no, right?"

"He didn't give me much of a chance to."

"Dean --"

"I don't want to hear it, Sam, I'm feeling shitty enough as it is. Point being, you might not hear from me for a few days, but I'm okay."

"What about Ben and Lisa?"

"I need you tell Lisa to take a vacation, okay? Go visit Lisa's mom for a few days. School's out, shouldn't be too difficult. Try not to freak her out too much, all right?"

"It would be better coming from you."

"Lisa doesn't want to hear this from me."

"You don't want to tell her, you mean."

"Sam." Dean sat down on the bed. "Sam, Dad had about ten million dollars in a suitcase with him."

Sam sucks in a breath. "Whoa?"

"Tell me about it. That's your student loans, Ben's college, everything. I could give him a real life. Not trailer shit like me."

"If it comes down to it, you give that money up. I'd rather pay student loans until my dying day than lose you over one of Dad's stupid deals. Promise me that if it comes to it, you'll give the money to whoever wants it."

"Sam --"

"I'm so sick of Dad's bullshit, Dean. Nothing's worth losing you over. Especially not a pile of money. If any of the people who are after Dad come after you, drop the money and run. I mean it. You have to promise me that right now."

"Okay, Sammy. I promise."  


* * *

  
Mr. Roman entered his office to find his security team dead on the floor.

He took a seat at his desk, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and plastered a serene smile across his face. "What can I do for you, Mr. Novak?"

Castiel traced the silencer on the gun. Mr. Roman motioned to the seat across from him, and Castiel sat down in it.

"How is the elder Mr. Novak? In good health, I hope?"

"Why is it your business how he is?"

"Just making conversation."

"I see."

"I make it a practice to enquire after business partners."

"You are not his business partner."

"I suspected he'd be a little put out by my deal gone awry. It's of no consequence. As we speak, my best people are tracking Mr. Winchester. They will find him and the money will be returned to you within the week."

"Ruby is dead."

Mr. Roman visibly starts at that. His smile vanished from his face. "I see. You believe that was necessary?"

"It's done, necessary or not."

"And this is how Michael does business, is it?"

"You have known how he does business from the second you met him. You do it the same way."

"And what am I, to him? Another transaction? Another liability?"

"Is that troublesome to you?"

Mr. Roman is silent. He fiddles with his tie and attempts to put his smile back on, but fails.

"Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"Then I'm done, too."

Castiel inclines his head.

"Never mind that the money is easily retrievable. Never mind the years we've worked together, the value I can offer."

"Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"I'd like to advise Michael to consider his options before going through with this. Not only am I an asset to him, but sending this kind of message may deter others from choosing to do business with him. Michael wants to seem firm and unyielding, but in my business experiences, strength and pragmatism are not always the same. I would also like to have a meeting face to face with Michael so that I could better communicate my ideas and advice with him before he engages in any foolhardy endeavors."

Castiel shoots him twice for good measure. Then he picks up the phone on his desk and dials a number.

Michael picks up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Michael."

"I see your meeting with Roman went as planned."

"Yes. He wanted me to tell you he considers this is a foolhardy endeavor as he is an asset to you, and also that eliminating him may deter others from wanting to do business with you. Finally, he asked me to point out that strength and pragmatism aren't mutually inclusive."

"Noted. Is that all?"

"He also said he sent his best people out for the money."

"I thought he might. No doubt he sent Alastair and Meg. But after Winchester killed Azaezel, he would want to send others to be sure of success."

"Azazel had apprentices. Lilith, Brady and Tom."

"I see. Well, as of now, you're all working towards the same goal. I see no reason to kill perfectly good people when they could easily switch to our side upon learning of their employer's demise. If they become problems, do what you think is best, but otherwise, leave them be. Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Good luck, brother."

Castiel puts the phone down and looks at Roman's body. It's slumped out of the chair, head dipping towards the ground. The eyes are still open, mouth still twisted into a lopsided smirk. Castiel walks past him to the window and looks out on the expanse of city below. He watches the traffic move and brings his hand to his mouth and bites down hard on his palm. The salty taste fills his mouth and he inhales, breathing in blood and oxygen and holding it in his lungs for as long as he can, before releasing it and coming back to himself with sharp, gasping breaths.


	2. Chapter 2

The motel is dingy if Dean's being polite. The smell is rancid and overpowering. The bathroom is composed primarily of brown stains and hairs that stick to every available surface. A torn piece of paper taped to the mirror tells him that there will be no hot water until five o'clock. The room is falling apart. This is why Dean chose it.

After making sure that all of the windows are closed, Dean moves the dresser out of the way and peels up the carpet underneath. He pries the nails out of the floorboards with a hammer and moves them out of the way. This allows him to climb into the space under the building with a shovel in his hand. He finds a drainage pipe from the bathroom, takes two steps to the left and three backwards, and starts to dig.

Blisters form on his hand quickly. He should have brought worker's gloves. Nevertheless, he digs. He pauses twice, once to relieve himself and once to have a drink of water and a snack. He digs a hole four feet deep, tosses the duffel bag of money into it, and sets to work covering it up. Afterwards, he climbs back into the room, nails the floorboards down, replaces the carpet, and pushes the dresser back into its original placement. After a quick shower, he surveys the room for any traces of his activities. Then he slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves.

He drives across town, stopping only at a Burger King to pick up dinner, and then finds a motel room a few miles away.

Dean is asleep before he hits the bed.

As soon as he wakes up, he checks out of the motel room and drives to an IHOP for breakfast. Before going in, he stops at a phone booth outside.

First, he calls Sam, who doesn't pick up. He leaves a message saying to call back in the next half hour. Then he orders breakfast and leans against the phone booth outside to eat. Halfway through the pancakes, he ducks back in. For a moment, he stands with the phone in his hand, staring down at it. He pushes the coins into the slot slowly -- dials the number even slower.

"Hello?"

"Ben?"

"Dad! What's up?"

"Nothing much, slugger. What's up with you?"

"Where are you calling from? What's this number?"

"Payphone. My cell ran out of battery."

"Dude, you gotta charge it. You always forget."

"Yeah, yeah. What's going on with you?"

"Mom's making us visit grandma this weekend. It sucks."

"Aw, it won't be too bad."

"Easy for you to say, you're not going. Hey, where are you? I stopped by the trailer but you weren't there."

"I'm out of town, bud. Visiting old friends."

"From the war?"

Dean grins into the receiver. "Yup."

"Is it Benny? Damn, I wish I could go! He's so awesome."

"Hey, watch your mouth. It ain't Benny. It's Jo and Victor."

"They're pretty cool, too. Even though Victor lectured me."

"He's a cop. It's in the job description."

"I guess. When are you getting back? I have a baseball game on the twentieth and if we win or tie we qualify for districts, so it's a really big deal. Everyone's super pumped about it."

"I'll be back by then."

"So you'll come?"

"Yeah, definitely. Hey, is your mom there?"

"Yeah. You wanna talk to her?"

"Sure. Good to hear you, Ben."

"You too. Talk to you later." There's some rustling and muffled yelling, and then Lisa says, "Dean?"

"Hey, Lis."

"Dean, what's going on?" Her voice is lowered, but Ben must be out of the room, because she wouldn't be saying anything at all if he was there. "Sam called me last night and told me to bail town for a few days. What happened?"

"My dad showed up and he's in a bit over his head. I'm helping him out."

"He's not your problem."

"He's my dad."

"He's a grown man who has to learn to live with the consequences of his decisions once in a while. And I mean the human consequences."

"It shouldn't take too long, and I don't think anything's gonna happen. I just wanna be safe about it."

"Whatever trouble your father's sucked you into, I don't want you suffering for it. Get yourself home, all right?"

Dean nods. "I gotta. I already promised Ben I'd go to his game."

"That's right. Ben's here waiting for you. You've got a lot of people who miss you."

"I love you, Lis."

Silence. "I love you too."

"Just for the record, I'm sorry about everything. My dad, the war, all of it. I really do love you and I'm sorry."

"This sounds an awful lot like a goodbye, Dean."

"Just covering my bases. Tell Ben I love him, too."

"Come home and tell him yourself."

"Yeah. Of course. Bye, Lis."

"Talk to you later, Dean."

Dean doesn't put the phone down for a minute. He listens to the dial tone instead. Then he puts the phone back on the receiver and finds a seat outside to finish his pancakes. Seven minutes later, the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Dean?"

"Heya, Sammy."

"How goes it?"

"No sign of trouble yet."

"You heard from Dad?"

"Nope. No way to contact him, either. The burner phone he gave me? Apparently he didn't think to put his number in it."

"God."

"Hey, stay calm."

"I'm not gonna stay calm when my brother's on the run with ten million dollars. No can do."

"You freaking out doesn't help anyone."

"Hey, I was thinking -- you've got contacts from the military, right? Why not try hitting up one of them? Benny seems more than capable to handle this."

"I will if I have to, but I don't wanna get him sucked into this shitstorm."

"He was in Iraq, Dean. I figure that made him pretty proficient at handling shitstorms."

"Yeah, you'd think. But I was there too, and I'm pretty sure it made me even worse."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just peachy."

"Okay. Call me back, all right? Call as often as you can."

"Dude, you gotta focus on your classes."

"Fuck my classes. Call me."

"Okay, okay! Damn. I'll call you. Keep your pants on, all right? No point in getting all worked up."

"Yeah, sure. As soon as I'm the one risking my life and you're the one sitting on your ass, let me know how the whole 'not getting worked up' thing goes for you."

"Yeah, yeah. Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam says, but there's no punch in it. "Stay safe, Dean."

"Take care of yourself, Sammy."  


* * *

  
Castiel finds John Winchester in a truck hauling metal pipes across the cornfields of Kansas. He shoots out the tires, then pulls around in front of it and shoots the driver.

In response, a ricochet of bullets cracks his windshield. Castiel keeps his head down and waits it out. He waits two minutes after it stops, then peeks out.

The passenger door of the truck is swinging wide open. Castiel isn't panicked. With no car, there's not far that John Winchester could go. He slides across the seats of the car and climbs out of the passenger side door, his gun in his right hand.

He listens. The fields rustle in the breeze, breathing in and out with the wind. The stalks sway, dancing in unison. The sun is hot and heavy on his shoulders. He wishes he wasn't wearing a jacket.

He rests his left arm across the hood of the car and holds the gun in his right hand. He looks across the landscape for a moment. Then he closes the door of the car and crouches to peer underneath the truck.

He makes brief eye contact with John Winchester, and the man is aiming a gun at his face and Castiel hits the ground just in time to avoid being shot. He yanks the door to the car back open and climbs back in, staying as compact as he can. John does not stop shooting by the time Castiel opens fire. As Castiel's gun has a silencer and John's does not, Castiel has the advantage of hearing exactly where his opponent is. He shoots only blind, while John shoots blind and deaf. So when Castiel climbs back into the driver's seat, John is still firing at the passenger's.

Castiel hears a curse and knows he has hit his target. He takes the opportunity to look over the dashboard.

It is simply a waiting game. If Castiel tries to get out of the car, John will shoot at him. However, if John attempts to move from his spot under the truck, Castiel will certainly kill him. If he stays, he will bleed from where Castiel's bullet hit and will likely not survive until morning. On the lone road, there is no promise of any sort of rescue. Confident in his advantage, Castiel pulls a hamburger he bought earlier that day out of the glove compartment and begins to eat, keeping an eye on the truck as he does.

Hours pass. The sun grows high in the sky and begins to sink down. Castiel does not move from his spot. As the sun moves closer to the horizon, Castiel notices a shift in the shadows at the back of the truck. He starts the car and pulls back around to see John limping along the side of the road.

As soon as John sees him, he opens fire on the car. Castiel merely presses his forehead into the steering wheel and shoves his foot on the gas, speeding straight towards John.

He both hears and feels the sound of John's body hitting the windshield and stops the car, climbing out just as John's body rolls to the pavement. The man managed to keep his gun in his hand, but Castiel kicks it away with ease and drops to a crouch above him.

"I don't have your fucking money," John says. There is blood coming out of his mouth, garbling his words. Some of the skin on his face has been torn off and sticks to the pavement.

"I see that."

"You're gonna kill me anyway."

"Yes."

John groans and drops his head against the asphalt. He is mostly cover in blood. His head appears to have suffered the most damage. Surveying his body, Castiel sees that his bullet is lodged in John's abdomen.

"You don't know where it is," John says.

"You have given it to someone for safekeeping. Someone you trust. There's no one you trust besides your family," says Castiel. "You have few family members, and far less who live in the area. It won't take me long to find him."

"Don't kill him."

"Your son."

"Don't kill him. Please."

"You gave him the money. You brought him into this."

"Just let him live."

"You made him a part of this. He's collateral now. There's nothing I can do about that."

"You can let him go."

"Everyone says that."

"They say it to save their own skin, don't they? They say 'let _me_ go.' I ain't asking you to let me go, I know I'm dead. I'm saying, let _him_ go. I'm asking for him. Don't that make a difference?"

"No."

John moans. "Just do it."

"People say that, too. They don't mean it."

"You shot me and ran me over. I ain't getting much out of being alive at the moment."

"Yes you are," says Castiel. "Look above you. The sun is hotter than it's ever been and the sky is the clearest blue to exist. You're alive and your heart is pumping blood through your veins and you are breathing and thinking. This is the most beautiful moment of your life. Savor it."

"You're a crazy son of a bitch, aren't you? Fucking downright insane."

"I can offer you my sympathy, if you want it. I don't do that often."

"Fuck your sympathy. I want you to let my son live."

"As soon as you handed him the money, you sealed his fate. It has nothing to do with me."

"As long as you're pulling the trigger, it has everything to do with you."

"I did nothing to cause myself to cross paths with your son. You steered our destinies. You caused them to collide."

"You're no agent of fate, boy. You're just a kid with a gun who wants to believe it's not his fault. As long as you're pulling the trigger, it's on you. It's your choice."

"Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"Tell my boys I'm sorry," says John. "Tell them I tried to do right by them and I failed and I'm sorry for that and tell them I love them. And -- and tell him I died brave, all right? No coward's death. Tell him I fought until the end."

"I'll tell them," says Castiel. "I promise."

"Yeah, yeah. Get on with it."

Castiel shoots John cleanly through the skull. He closes John's eyes and kneels next to his body, staring up at the sky and the sun. Then he goes into the car, gets a blanket, and wraps John's body in it, cradling it as the midday heat fades into the coolness and stillness of night.


End file.
